Do the unexpected!
by Teatime87
Summary: Sherlock and Molly got stuck in an elevator and Molly finds the courage to do something in spite of herself. [Sherlock/Molly] *** I'm not English speaking, but I had help with the translation )


It had been a hard day. I rubbed my tired eyes and stretched myself. I was stuck in this lab for hours, checking the last few analysis reports. My back was aching due to the crooked position I was working in. Carefully I rubbed the aching spot, suppressing a groan.

I peeked at the other side of the lab. Sherlock sat at the table and looked concentrated through the microscope. A few strands of hair were hanging in his face and I smiled. It looked sexy and cute at the same time. I took a glimpse at my watch. It was late and all I wanted was going home and sleep.

I got up and walked around the table. Sherlock didn't look up when I stopped right next to him and my heart sped up immediately. I suppose I'll die from a heart attack someday.

"So, have you found anything yet?" My voice was cracking and I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Yes," Sherlock answered with his dark and velvety voice, which brought me goosebumps every single time I heard it. "But I still don't know what it is."

I watched him while he was speaking. Oh, he was so perfect. The pale blue eyes which scamper around, looking for the next clue … the concentrated expression on his face … the cheekbones … the neat hands clasping the microscope …

Suddenly I noticed that Sherlock had raised his head and was looking at me in bewilderment. Had I been staring at him dreamily again? I winced in embarrassment and shot him and shy smile.

"Well, I … I think I'll go home now …"

"Leaving already?"

I laughed. "It's past midnight."

Sherlock shot a glance at his watch. "Oh … no I still have some experiments to do. But I'll accompany you downstairs, I need something from the basement."

"Okay," I said shakily. Why did my voice always sound like that when I was speaking to him? It was annoying. I reached for my jacket and slipped it over my shoulders.

Sherlock followed me into the corridor, the doors of the elevator opening with a quiet blip. Sherlock stepped into the spacious elevator first and pushed the button to the basement. I waited, assuming he would push the button to the ground floor for me, but he was busy with his mobile phone. So I bend forward and pushed the button myself.

The doors closed and the elevator started moving with a soft humming while I peeked at Sherlock. I absorbed these moments with him really, saving them indelibly into my memory. Later, dozing off in my bed, I would think of every moment and hope that I dream of them.

Suddenly there was a brutal jerk. I almost lost balance and barely could get hold on Sherlock.

Then the lights went out.

"What is that?" I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. The emergency light came on and transformed the room into a surreal atmosphere.

"We got stuck in an elevator obviously," Sherlock answered. "Most likely caused by a power b—oh no, damn it!" He slammed his palm into the wall of the elevator. "The records on the computer! A whole day's work—for nothing! … Wait!" He put his fingertips on his temples and shut his eyes in concentration. "The data is in my head, I just have to commit it to my memory."

I cleared my throat hesitantly. "Er … shouldn't we call for help?"

Sherlock didn't answer and remained in his pose. Obviously he wasn't in an addressable state right now. I decided to call for help while he was … busy. I went to the emergency telephone and pushed the button. A few seconds later I heard a male voice.

"Emergency call center, please tell me your location and name."

"Er, Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital. We got stuck in an elevator."

There was a creaking noise.

"Hello? Call your location and name, please!"

"Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital," I repeated myself louder.

"Hello?" I heard from the speaker.

"Hello? Do your hear me?" I answered.

"Yes. Please call your location and name."

"Molly Hooper, St. Bartholomew's Hospital."

"Hello?" The voice said, audibly annoyed now.

Then there was silence, followed by a beep as the other had hung up.

"It won't work like this!" Sherlock groaned exasperated and opened his eyes.

I looked at him, seeking help.

"Problem?" he asked.

"The emergency telephone is broken."

Sherlock stepped up to me and pushed the button. I watched him and could smell the tangy fragrance of his aftershave. I felt butterflies in my stomach.

"Emergency call center, please call me your location and name."

"Sherlock Holmes, we're stuck in an elevator in St. Bart's. It's quite urgent, I've got records on my computer which—"

A creaking noise again. "Hello?"

"Hello!" Sherlock said, unnerved now.

"Your name, please."

"Sherlock Holmes at St. Bart's."

"Hello? Now listen to me very carefully. The misuse of the emergency telephone is a punishable criminal offence! I ask you to cease this, please!"

Then he hung up.

Sherlock stared at the telephone in irritation.

"Maybe we should try it again later?" I suggested.

Sherlock nodded and looked around. Then he took his mobile phone out of his pocket and checked the display.

"I have no reception." He held his phone up and started to wander around the elevator. It looked quite funny and I suppressed a giggle.

I took my mobile phone out too. "I have no reception either."

Sherlock sighed, turning the mobile on and off impatiently.

"Maybe you can tell me what you've find out about the poison," I said, trying to cheer him up a little bit. "It might help you memorize your findings, if the data's lost on the computer."

"No."

"Okay," I mumbled.

Sherlock went up and down the elevator, stopping right in front of the doors. He gazed at them intently. Then he reached into the small gap with his long fingers and tried to push the doors apart. A strained groan escaped his throat, while the doors opened a few centimeters. He pulled at them a bit more strongly, but they didn't open further. Sherlock pulled away his fingers, gasping, and the doors smashed together with a loud clang.

Suddenly he turned around, staring at my handbag. "What have you got in there?"

"Er … actually … just my things …"

Sherlock reached out for it. "May I?"

Without further ado I handed him my bag. He rummaged in it a few seconds before he turned it upside down, letting the contents fall onto the floor. Like my purse, my life was suddenly lying open on the ground now. Behind one of the transparent cases was a photo: Sherlock and me at the Christmas party at Baker Street. We were standing close to each other, but we didn't look familiar either. My smile was affectionate; Sherlock's was faked. The picture had been trimmed so that Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, who were in the original photo too, couldn't be seen.

I felt my face turning red when Sherlock raised his head and looked at me intently.

Hastily I picked up my purse. "This … I, er …" What was I supposed to say? "It's not, what … it looks like …"

It was so embarrassing. I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

To my relief Sherlock didn't go into it further, but began to explore the other contents of my hand bag. Keys, umbrella, pocket mirror, lipstick, nail file, calendar, deodorant.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

I started to put away the things on the ground and was relieved that this embarrassing moment was over. I sank to the floor and felt fatigued. It had been a long day.

Sherlock still stood in front of the doors, his hands propped up in his hip and his foot teetering on the floor. He turned around and looked at me with a frown. "You don't want to sleep now, do you?"

"Is there anything we can do? We have to wait for someone to rescue us."

Sherlock sniffed in discontent. He went to the emergency telephone again and pushed the button. There was a creaking noise, and then the line went dead with a beep.

"Now it's definitely broken," I said.

"Are you trying to be clever? Don't do that, it's not your area."

Well, thank you very much. I shot him a reproachful look. Seemingly getting the hint, he walked sank to the floor opposite me. Leaning his head against the wall he stared at the ceiling.

I gazed at his long neck, ending in the casually opened collar. Oh god, I would give anything for being close to him just once. I wanted to talk to him, have a conversation with him, but I rejected every subject that came to my mind because I was afraid of boring him. On the other hand it was a golden opportunity. Sherlock and me alone.

"So, er … how's the case going?"

"Not a good topic, Molly."

So, it wasn't going so well. "I was impressed how fast you solved the last case. I never would have guessed that the embroidery on the handkerchief was the key."

Sherlock narrowed his eyelids, watching me. "Don't tell me you read John's blog."

"Er … well, yes. It's very exciting and interesting," I replied. " … the blog!" I added, just to be on the safe side.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling again, silence filling the room.

I bit my lip nervously. Somehow it occurred to me that it was my job to not let the conversation die. What could I say? My mind was blank. Just for something to do I dug through my handbag, as if I was searching for something specific, but I felt silly at the same moment. What was there, that I could fake needing? My bag wasn't exactly full of things. Finally I took the pocket mirror and held it up in front of my face, just to pretend I found what I was looking for.

"Why are you nervous, Molly?"

His voice made me wince after the heavy silence. I let the hand holding the mirror sink and smiled at him awkwardly. "Pardon?"

"You feel uncomfortable. You were rummaging in your bag, although you knew what is in there. You're "checking your make-up" although you can't see anything properly due to the diffuse light. Besides, you don't wear make-up at all. You just have the mirror with you, because you think a woman is supposed to have it in her bag. Just as the lipstick. It's worn out from the outside, but you've never wore it."

I stared at him with wide eyes, letting my head sink in embarrassment. Once again he had rattled me, exposed my soul and hadn't hesitated to confront me with it. Under different circumstances I would have stared at him dumbfounded or he would turn away, disinterested. But now it was a different situation. He could not up and leave, and I could not distract myself with work. It appeared to me like an eternity, but finally I spoke.

"It's weird, you know."

Sherlock raised his head and watched at me with interest.

"You always make me feel dull and insignificant. Nonetheless you notice these small details."

Sherlock grimaced. "Just because I notice these details doesn't mean you are interesting."

My face turned red. Did he just really say that? It made my heart sink. "Really? Who's interesting for you, then? Maniacs, who carve people into pieces?" If I hadn't been so insecure the bitterness in my words would have been audible.

Sherlock answered immediately. "The unexpected is what's interesting, Molly. I can read you like book. You are predictable. Dull. What is exciting is if the expected is not fulfilled."

I listened to him attentively, but my heart's pounding was so loud, I almost lost it. The unexpected. Do the unexpected. Surprise Sherlock Holmes! But how? An idea crossed my mind, but I really couldn't do that. I wouldn't survive it. Disregarding what his reaction would be. No, I couldn't do it.

I stared at the floor in front of me for a while, thinking. How could you surprise this amazing man? I could I surprise him? Me, the average of the average. My thoughts wandered hither and thither, but they always came back to this impossible idea. He would never expect that. Maybe this was my chance to change things between us. For the better. Involuntary my heartbeat was going faster as I peeked at him. He still stared at the ceiling of the elevator, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Do it, Molly! Go ahead!

I raised myself and walked towards Sherlock, sitting down right next to him. My heart pounded even faster. I was afraid it might jump out of my chest. Sherlock turned his head towards me and watched at me, astonished. That was good, he really didn't expect this.

I examined his fine facial features, these pale eyes, those fascinating lips. I inhaled his scent, clouding my mind. Come on, Molly … make the move! Slowly I leaned into him, coming closer to his face. I watched his reaction anxiously, but then I closed my eyes and suddenly my lips were on his. I was glad to be sitting already, otherwise my knees would have given out. His lips were warm and soft and oh god, it was gorgeous! A languorous feeling spread within me and a surge of adrenalin shot through my veins, disseminating endorphins. The kiss lasted just a few seconds, but for me it felt as if the world stopped turning. Slowly I detached myself from him and he stared at me with a blank expression. Suddenly I felt insecure, radiating uncertainty even and my face turned bright red. Did I go too far? Did he find me repellent? Oh god, what have I done?!

"I … I'm … I'm sorry …"

Sherlock just kept watching me, which made me feel even more insecure. Why didn't he react at all? Even if he would scream at me, refuse me or no matter what else would be better than … this! I would have liked to run away. The elevator suddenly turned into a prison.

"Don't do that, Molly." His voice was soft and darker than ever before.

"Don't do what?", I asked quite, my voice trembling.

"Pretend something to be that you are not. You seek approval and acceptance and are prepared to give yourself up to achieve that."

Suddenly realization set in. Why did I even get my hopes up? No one could be that naïve.

"I … yes … I know."

I moved away from him a little bit to show that I wasn't convinced any more of what I did before. I buried my face in my hands and wanted the ground to swallow me up. Appalled, I noticed the tears filling my eyes. Oh no, don't you cry now! That would be even more embarrassing. Hastily I wiped over my face and took a deep breath.

Suddenly I heard the rustling noise of clothing. Sherlock had turned towards me so that he could look at me. "Molly …"

I raised my head and looked at him, insecure. Oh god, how shall I ever look him in the eyes again after what happened in this elevator. These beautiful eyes I dreamed of every night.

"Molly," he started again and looked right into my eyes. "I really appreciate you as a pathologist and a doctor. But I can't reciprocate these feelings you have for me."

I nodded in agreement. How could I ever hope that a brilliant man like Sherlock Holmes would mess about with someone like me? A mousy person, with no self-confidence. Who stuttered when she was nervous.

"I understand that you are not interested in me," I said quietly.

But Sherlock shook his head and avoided my eyes for a moment. "It's not because of you," he said, watching me again. "It is because of me."

I stared at him with wide eyes. "But …" My mind went blank.

"It was my decision to put my work on the first place in my life. The work is the most important thing for me, without it I feel … incomplete."

A sad smile crossed my face but it faded quickly.

"Can you understand this? I live my life like I do it because I decided to. I know there are different opinions, but I am able to love. I just made the conscious decision that it's not an advantage to show this love to a person."

My heart sank at these words. What had he experienced? Sherlock Holmes was a man who once was very badly hurt, I realized.

I watched him tentatively. "Maybe it's time to make new experiences."

At my words he gave a little smile that made my heart jump with joy. I heard a low, rumbling laugh as he sat back against the wall, tucking up his legs and hugging his knees with his arms.

"I will think about that," he said, looking at the ceiling again.

I watched him for a while and smiled. I was happy now that I got up the nerve to do what I dared earlier. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. Something unexpected.


End file.
